


Thunder and Bots

by Pentaphobe



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Universe - Fandom, X-Men
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-03 10:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4098133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pentaphobe/pseuds/Pentaphobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a Latverian revolt turns to people--mutants for weapons, Ororo loses everything. But, in the process, she gains just as much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This is me shamelessly shipping Ororo because she deserves love. If you like it, I like you. ♥

From afar, there were several groups of men coming from the southern half of the institution. They dispersed from the trees where the wilderness that surrounded the mutant safe haven, guarded it from intruders, wanders, unwanted company. However, the men wore in militia style uniforms with camouflage, with rifles touted on their flanks while they assumed the most opportunistic positions. It was in the evening, so the children were all asleep save for those whose mutant abilities kept them from slumber.

They paid no mind to the shadows moving along the windows and the flits of light that passed by the windows. It was a brief series of investigations, before those that had certain tasks were given orders.

A man donning no weapon, stood within the tree patch that was closer to the mansion. He was a dirty blonde with a strong jaw, dark brows that furrowed with concentration; he was in a uniform, but he wore a badge over his left breast and stood beside another man that wore none, but had a second radio which was handed to him.

He spoke in Latverian, “Are we all in position?”

The leader received affirmation in a series of threes, before the demolition squad that moved out after them echoed from the various corners of the mansion.

“Objective one, engage.”

From over the radios shots fired could be heard, along with the sounds of bags being zippened up. “No difficulties, ready for extraction.” The first voice sounded. Followed by the second, but the third did not. The man waited around thirty seconds before firing out, “Unit three, are you ready for extraction?”

There was silence, before all that answered was a horrified scream and a roar that followed after. It reverberated and even echoed from the inside, out. Several mens’ heads turned with it. Yet the man, shook his head with a swallowed Latverian curse. “Demolition.” And several corners of the mansion suddenly imploded. Just as such happened, the air around them began to stir.

The leader felt the buzz on the tip of his tongue and he frowned. “Deal with the weather witch. I want no trace of us in the area. Burn it to the ground if you must.”

* * *

What was left of the mansion was in cinders; who hadn’t gotten out, who was left.. They were gone.

Ororo had shooed them. She ordered the children's evacuation with the X-Jet, one of the novice aviators -- Bobby Drake, who had she had been hand training herself, was piloting things -- hopefully didn't crash-land them in their efforts. Regardless, there was an SOS signal to it for the allies, people who could be trusted so the kids that didn’t have a place to go and those that chose to head elsewhere could find their friends should they need it. Good people. Till the rest of the team could regroup. They were in good hands.. Piotr, Rogue.

But, it was only a handful, scatter handfuls in the rush that came in the middle of the night. It was a miracle that she herself was there, present and alive. The black, slick suit was tattered and exposing skin beneath it. The raw, ruddy brown flesh was steaming just like the rumble of what was left of the institute's wall. From the meat of her shoulder, three thick pins were protruding and aching.

Ororo presently was holding a blue hand that was amidst the crumbled bricks, crushed and cool between her fingers. She couldn't bear to let the hand go to do so. It had been the second of ten minute intervals that had went by where she paused from attempting to pull the hulking, blue body from out of the rumble. The large stones never budged and eventually, she sank to her knees.

There was a numbness to her eyes. Her bright eyes were blue, now finally beginning to bleed into a brilliant ivory. A collection of tears began to spill from those white pools. Bright Lady.. I have failed.. She barely been able to defend them. It was only in that present moment that she had been able to use her powers to their full extent. She supposed to be the rock of this place. Tis was supposed to be better than the last. Yet here they were, with nothing. The children gone, ones not taken, gone to somewhere safe. Ororo herself was just there. The footmen. soldier or mercenaries, she didn't have the strength to scrutinize what and who was what--but, those that hadn't found their end in the wave that came through and infiltrated the place were closing in.

Despite this, Ororo wouldn't move.

A quiver started in her shoulders. The sky overhead was beginning to rain, very violently and very quickly. It was a cold rain, felt like ice with the rumble of the impeding storm through the air. The air was electrically charged despite the cold and the temperature dropping ever so rapidly.

The sky broke apart in a thunderous roar. The clouds parted almost physically, before lightning seared the very earth around her. Her hands balled into fist and her head tilted back with the scream that matched the volume of the clap of thunder that the black clouds bellowed out. She paid no heed to it, but the lines of the energy around her became jagged with the disruption of her emotions. Her anger, her pain made the tertiary greens and yellows bleed into red, blue, the sky echoing the sentiment with the funnels that opened down in the area around her. Each spun waywardly, taking with it man and rumble and destroying it with sheer force and power. The rain pelted like hail, instead of cubes, sharp sickles of ice, cutting and leaving gruesome lacerations that cut through their uniforms.  
It was a storm that stretched over the small valley, threatening to take the city, if only by Ororo’s exhaustion that kept it from being a harsh rain over city.

Her eyes were heavy and she could only manage a hiccup as she tried to stand. Her feet not keeping her afloat for long. Only just till she made it to the porch as something touched down; cloaked under some sort of shield, before it dissolved revealing the dark red coat and its panels.


	2. II

[News at 10am.]

Fox: "We have received notice that the Jean Grey Institute for Mutants has been involved in one of the most horrif--!"

ABC: "Sources have stated the school, an institute for mutants, adult and children alike. Students who range from elementary to college levels were attacked."

MSNBC: "While there are no survivors on the ground, students who have escaped the rumble has been reported in the city. Parents are demanding a list of the students who have survived."

NBC: "There are a handful of senior staff and professors who have all been giving the same information: there is no idea who caused this event"

CNN: "Word has it that leaving the scene there was an aircraft of strange proportions leaving the city sites early that morning, joining a second high in the New York skies."

FOX: "It's rumored that the make and model of the craft, it is none other than Latverian. And for the last two decades, Latverian crafts have stayed in Latverian airspace."

CNN: "The United States government has stated they will attempt to seek audience with all individuals involved; including Latverian Monarch, Victor von Doom -- solidifying not only his involvement but the sighting of his Latverian aviator in the vicinity of the Jean Grey Institute."

All: "More will be relayed later in the day or the evening.."

* * *

A man with goggles turns his head, addressing a dark shadow looming over him in Latveria. "Your Grace, we will be reaching Doomstadt in another hour."

"Good." The curt acknowledgement came from behind the manned positions of the cabin at the helm of The Flying Fortress. A massive shelter-made aircraft, modeled after zeppelins in the earlier century. With heavy modifications mostly in the interior, from the outside it looked out of date, rather obtuse and unnecessarily bulky in comparison to the whatever served as hellicarriers for the far, western world. This served as its own purpose, a massive floating operation dedicated not only to the work of transportation and harboring Victor's personally designed air vehicles, but also kept that of a small populous of persons. Not of people. Not entirely anyway. Only a third of the individuals walking about were human, the rest were a variety of Doombots. Engineered for their specific purposes and stations.

Regardless, as Victor von Doom turned -- long green cape spun from his path, gauntlet covered hands stretched at his side, to filled by a clipboard of papers with vital information on medical stats; from barrel-esque expanse of his chestplate, he hummed deeply, inquisitive -- and the endless sea of people parted or redirected themselves out of the armored man's way.

"Besides this, a summary of our guest's condition?"

"She will recover, she’s mostly exhausted. There were some minor contusions unfortunately to the head, she'll need to be prepped for the vitae, but the other things -- lacerations, puncture wounds, cuts and scrapes, are all patched up."

"Have the effects of these contusions been sorted? Will it effect her memory?"

"Doctor Eiltfield has not given word, Majesty. He's requested a Rejuvenator Bot."

"Request granted. A report should be procured immediately, it would be unfit to have to address the situation personally."

The man wavered in his uniform, his steps just keeping with Victor whose posture had not moved from the scholarly pose it had taken in the beginning of his walk through the various compartments of the ship. A next man replaced the first, he had curly black hair, a deeper complexion, "Majesty, we have reports coming in from the U.N. The American government has demanded an audience with you."

"Demand?"

Victor turned his scrutiny on the man, expecting someone more stout. But, he was a boy. "Aye, your grace. Not by the looks of the Diplomatbot's report, I believe they're bolstering for their televising." The young man offered the report to Victor, allowing him to see for himself, a manuscript of all the latest news broadcasts and conversation.

"As you know, there will no be deviating from our course. The closest source of information is on course for Latveria. Ambassador Gorzenko and a Diplomatbot will handle the matter."

"Majesty." An incline came from the young man's head before he went to perform his duties.

After a few more compartment, he departed to the cabin where he seated himself in a single chair perched higher than others. His vacant expression of a mask stared on the projection that came up giving him a wide array of images from various televised networks to view.

After watching a few short minutes, a voice piped up from below. "Majesty, we will be landing in thirty minutes."

Victor nodded, not taking his eyes from the screen. The meeting conference with the United States broadcasters would be starting. "Before dusk, make sure our guest has proper accommodations."

The Flying Fortress stayed within the skies while the Aerosub harboring its new arrival descended to his city. His beautiful Latveria. It was a city molded to his hands, becoming the absolute superpower it was to this day. It was not to be forgotten despite its place between its neighboring states. Latveria was one of the most technologically advanced states, along with its allied nation of Wakanda.

It’s history was harsh, but once the false leader had been purged from Latveria’s breast and Doom took his rightful place at her helm, she and her people flourished. The fields lush with grain, and the shops bulge with luxuries, there is no hunger or unemployment in the land, for Doom wishes it. Outside nations have condemned the fruitful state because of its constant security, soldiers and robotic arms set in place, to roam freely with the people, but it was only as a means of protection. As well as to absolve any spies or people of unwelcome, foreign affairs that would seek to infiltrate the peaceful home. Violence was never an issue, people have their squabbles but there are no violent gangs, no corruption. And yet, it would seem that it was from within that there are forces that wish to thwarp Doom from his perch amidst the heavens.

The would be usurpers had only made themselves known in the past year or so. They had been led by someone sophisticated enough to conceal their identity from Doom’s forces, to build a decent following, mostly men and young boys who escaped the hands of their mothers, and seemed to have scientific knowledge enough to get around the bots. The Monarch had been busy on foreign affairs in Wakanda concerning the recent dispute been the Atlanteans and the Wakandans, having thought the trouble would be rectified upon his arrival. Only to see his people flock to him at the streets when he walked among them, that there was those in the dark that sought to ruin their beautiful home. Those who held guns and strange abilities that wished to bring them harm. Another thing that had not been accounted for. The superhuman and mutant people of Latveria were not a terribly outspoken lot, nor had such ever been brought to his attention -- a prejudice or discrimination, after all: this was a place of free people, should they follow in the Glory of Doom. But, perhaps his subordinates had not been following in close enough detail.

Obviously not, for Latverian affairs have spilt outside of their borders and now his Ambassador aside a doombot specified to accompany Gorzenko on these ventures. These disturbances will crushed for their treasonous acts.

Ambassador Gorzenko sat in a dark green, three-piece suit rolling a cigarillo between his fingers and a handkerchief that sported Latverian colors in his breastpocket. His dark hair combed back neatly and his beard and mustache were properly groomed for the occasion, as it was at any time when it came to business. To his right, was a bot that dress in green garbs, a toga specifically, under a long cloak that trailed at the tail on the floors. Presumably for protection, as well as aid the ambassador and rely any direct messages when need be. It seemed just as Gorzenko was tempted to light the cigarillo, the man behind the recorder was indicating they were going live.

His smooth hands folded comfortably in front of him. The FOX anchor Thompson O’Reilly welcomed him on board with the interview, as did the others in line with him.

“Thank you, I am grateful you have taken the time to bring your concerns of Lateverian affairs forward.” His accents was fair, but no less distinguishable from enunciation to words, however he was point. “I will be answering questions from several persons, so if you would please -- ask your questions and I will give my answer, however I may need a bit of thought.”

“Of course, Ambassador--”

An interview from MSNBC piped up to start things off. “As you know, early this morning, an attack happened on one of America's greatest mutant havens in the country. There was little evidence as to want happened, save for the handful of accounts from students who stated the attack happened. The Head Mistress in her distress, sent many children away with her senior staff though she was unable to escape. There was an evening account that had stated an aircraft akin to one seen in Latveria, was seen leaving the premises an hour or two after a violent storm spread across the city. Do you have any comment on that?”

Gorzenko curtly replied, “I do not.”

Another spoke up, “None at all?”

Gorzenko nodded, before the next interviewer chimed in. “What about the reports that Latveria has faced internal strife and civil unrest? Sources would have us believe that it's linked to these issues.”

He again replied, “I have no comment to these accusations. For all intents and purposes, I will assume that my home state continues to prosper and live content as it has been for the past century.” The words seemed to cause a displacement between the interviewers, each talking over one another. The root issue being that touch that Latveria was a dictatorial state. Gorzenko was covering for muddy work of the horrific tragedy seeping from Latveria’s borders. Then were was accusation of Latveria prejudice to its mutant population despite that the state toted of its freedom from the prejudice the Roma and other mixed raced people face. Gorzenko sat in passive silence for five minutes before he looked down at his watch, he pressed the surface of it. The bot at his side’s mouth opened and a sharp, white noise sound screeched across the various connected sound systems, forcing all them to silence. Once it was quiet, Gorzenko lifted his finger and the bot closed its mouth.

“Now that I have you attention, I will issue my statement: all inflammatory statements made against Latveria are false despite the hold to Latveria privacies -- some of which have been consistently violated despite the agreement upon such being respected at the conferences of collected nations -- these issues with such can be held in conference with the United Nations. Question to Latverian affairs being involved with the incident that happened at Jean Grey Institute for Mutants -- an incident of remarkable tragedy as it is -- will be further ignored until proper conversation can be had about the subject. It is under investigation whether this incident is of Latveria concern, so as order by the glorious Monarch, Victor von Doom himself, investigation by Latverian government will be had. Assistance is unnecessary and Latverian officials hope such will be respected until further information can detail the incident.”

Gorzenko collected his silver zippo, “I believe that is all I can give on the matter. Pleas--”

It was then that bot stepped forward, till its legs nearly touched the desk at which Gorzenko sat.

“Message from the Master, Victor von Doom -- security over Latveria has been extended one-hundred kilometers with the agreement of its neighboring states. Restriction of fifty kilometers in Latveria airspace, failure to comply will result in the use of lethal force. Effective immediately. Regards, the Glory that is Doom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o/


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor's oogling. x;

If not for its stonewall attachment to the earth, Castle von Doom could very well be a very small, floating island adjacent to Doomstadt. A small island built with tall, broad towers that served as miniature, nuclear plants and electrical towers that powered the city, fueled all the vehicles and forms of transportation current in Latveria, as well as bordering cities that found frequent trade with the place and requested implement into the system. Castle von Doom's population was restricted to Doombots and several handfuls of first hand appointed personel, as well as foot soldiers who could be seen walking about in thick-plated armor alongside Doombots that more freely exposed their symbolic connection to their Master.

Speaking of whom, was traversing his halls, making his way up the steps of his throne room. His destination was particular, following a set course that led to what was the closest thing to an infirmary within the place. That was without sending her to St. Dominic's in Doomsburg, a risky endeavor that he would not take, given the circumstance. Given her importance. Her being the white-haired, African-American woman who laid, resting beneath the dome of the revitalization chamber designed by one of Doom's very own. She was wore a patient tarp for her own decence. A medical nurse a foot away with a dress for when the process would be done. Dr. Eiltfield stood by, touching the surface of it whilst a bot, dressed down in white gown and doctorial robes, a Doomaid stood at the end where her head was. Its hands framed her cranium from inside the dome. Vibrant, bright blue lights danced over her features several times before shutting off. It removed its hands just as Dr. Eiltfield pressed a hand to the device.

It was then, he acknowledged Doom's presence. A brief bow at the hip. "Sire."

From behind the metallic mask, he regarded the robust man as he adjusted his glasses, pacing beside the medbed to look down at woman. Her expression impassive and settled, peaceful even. "Report?"

"She is recovering. There were some minor complications. But, all of them were remedied. The chamber has healed the wounds of the flesh, there will be little scar, save for her brow." A hand lifted to gesture along her shaved hairline where a patch was, tinted with red, presumably blood and stitching. Victor's eyes followed the hand but otherwise, peered at the rest of her to see if such words were true. Meanwhile, his own hand came down on the surface of the machine where she laid, close to the strands of her hair.

"Will her memory of the events be affected?" His attention returned to his best doctor, who snapped at the Doomaid. The bot spoke in a feminine voice, its hands coming behind its back. "Cerebral readings indicate memory will be intact, however recollection may take time as the patient's trauma as well as self-inflected exhaustion has taken a toll on the body."

Victor appeared satisfied with the answer, peering down at the once more. His fingertips touched the ends of the white silk of her hair before he gestured for the nurse to dress her. "Move her to her room, when able.."

"Majesty, I think there is also something to be noted." Victor gestured for the doctor to follow as the nurse and the Doomaid went about dressing her. They exited down one of the many corridors that led through the halls.

"What is that?"

Dr. Eiltfield pushed his glasses off the bridge of his nose, speaking with his hand. "There were traces of the Fortonuv serum in her system. It appeared antimugenic to a degree, or that was its intention since by the reports she was shot with it on site." Victor hummed. "However, it did not take considering her abilities were still active upon your arrival and when she awoke through the healing process. Perhaps, it merely stalled her system?"

"Have you taken samples of her blood?"

The Doctor nodded. "Yes, of course."

* * *

When Ororo woke up, she found herself laid beneath soft sheets and linens. It wasn't home, this wasn't her bed.

She didn't smell the soft, downy laundry detergent, Hank used on everything when he was generous to wash clothes. This smell was light, crisp.. almost scentless. She pressed her hands above to unravel herself from linen prison when it hit her. "Hank.." Where was he? Her eyes narrowed, she thought.. Why didn't he call? It was too late to have missed just classes? Where was he? Where was everyone? All at once, she detangled herself from the sheets and went for the doors. There she found herself looking out into dim-lit surroundings. She was on a balcony overlooking a small city, but the sky was bright. Her mother's stars watched her from above. The colors atop of a building in the distance showed the green and black, crested with a symbol she knew from a long forgotten occurrence. Lateveria.. It was then she remembered. It was like a white noise rushed over her when she remembered the exiting the Danger Room. Her eyes set on Kitty and the next thing she knew she was gone and three pellents had went in her arm, a stun of electricity tried to shock her but her abilities were still active, it sputtered outward, everything till she was struck with something else and everything went foggy.

The next she knew, she saw gun fire and blood. The walls of the institute coming down around her and wind spinning to take away of the debri. But, it hadn't been enough, it hadn't.. Silent tears began to spill from her eyes.

A Doomaid rushed in hearing a terrible sound come from the guest's room. It found the sheets tousled and vacant of the guest, only to find the guest at the balcony that looked over Castle von Doom. She was on her knees, the sound that tore from her dissolved into soft sobs. The skies were becoming darker than the night's current veil, but there were no grey clouds to accompany it. Rain merely fell from the skies. It fell slow and cold. The temperature dropped so very rapidly that the bot shuddered from its circuits outward. Particularly cold was the air around the woman as she sagged in the corner. The wind from the outside rushed inside and nearly forced the bot off its feet. It had no footing here.

When Doom was bothered in his labratory, he had first ignored the plea. Sure their efforts had been brief and false and insisted they try harder to tend to their guest, it would be rude not to accommodate her. That is, till Mr. Eiltfield addressed the situation and even he could not settle the matter. Sedatives were in order, but he could not reach her, nor did he want to rouse any aggression of the turbulence that was beginning to surround them. And so, the Monarch himself stepped from his activities.

There. His figure was fairly statue-esque, save for the slight waver when the wind accompanying a harsher sob coming from folded arms over bent knees. It was difficult, but with patience and persistence he made it to Ororo's side. The wind bolstered with his presence. He would not move. Doom denied the wordless demand and came to kneel by Ororo. An arm draping over the point of knee while he observed the shattered woman.

Ororo didn't seem to acknowledge him. Her tears continued to fall. They fell and fell. And continued to fall more till she was reduced to small sob, while the rain echoed the tears she couldn't product any longer. It was hours they were sitting there. Him watching her cry and the world's sentiment reaching to her through the raining that continued to fall around them, soaking his streets and his castle-city. There was little to be done while Ororo shook. From the cold rain or from the rattle of internal emotions, it was hard to tell.

However the long hours, Victor stood there. He waited through the tears and the small sobs, but he was not idle. Eventually, his hand came up to press to the top of her head. A faint, lavender light surrounded his hand and as time passed began to engulf Ororo's. It let him communicate with her from the inside. There was walls, static in her mind, like living electricity but they were fractured and unsteady. They let him see the cracks throughout, hear the reverberating sound of her crying internally as well as what he heard from his physical ears. It did not stop him. 'Ororo..' he called to her, "This is unfitting, you must rest." He spoke gently, but firm. The tone like linear iron, set and sure. A fixed point that ground the fragments should she rear her head. "I insist it.."

Ororo was unresponsive at first. The electricity tried to align itself, to push him out. To secure her far away from the demanding droning that echoed in her mind. For while, he'd feel just that. A hard resistance till a sense of exhaustion seemed in.

"I insist." The words came again. If not for his deliberate observation, he might have missed the minute movement that pressed the scarred half of her skull an inch or two towards his palm. "There will be nothing to disturb you. Just calm," and just like that, he took the discomforts, the pangs and aches throbbing in her skull away. A sniffle came from her. And then another.

Soon, he felt her distant from him. Her unconscious weaving itself in the electricity and it was quiet.

* * *

The rain continued an off-and-pattern for several days. She could here it from the inside out. When they arrived, they each had been given numbers -- those who hadn't, were placed in personal bunkers by themselves to reduce communication between everyone from the institution.

Whatever they had planned, they certainly did their work on things. She had been able to phase through things briefly and noted how dense the walls were, it was almost painful to meld through. But in the very least, she knew where the others were generally. They were organized by their powers from least to most dangerous, or maybe.. from least to most useful. Their captors hadn't spoke too much around them, besides they spoke some different language. So little clues to figure out things.

She had to figure out where they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter! :D Hope it is liiiked.


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. Lost the chapter and had to rewrite all over again. -n-;

It was still dark when she felt a presence approach her bedside. It was dark and looming like a black sentinel in her dream, colorless and simple. A mass near here; and for a moment, she suspected it was lucid dreaming, something from the far reaches of her mind trying to bring itself forth but she felt it there, like it was real as she was in the world. Like she had partly crossed that threshold between dreaming and wakefulness but, she felt so heavy. Her shoulders shrugged up and she tried to bury herself further into the pillowy surface beneath her face. That's when she could make out in the lightlessness -- the shape moving, extending towards her with a permeable warmth as it dragged thin sheets against her shoulders. Resting there as she curled and uncurled, squirming into the satin textures as if restless.

If she were awake, surely the evening sky would be dark, or beginning to become so by the wrath of her uneasy emotions. Her body became heavier and heavier and for a moment she began losing herself to the fits of sleep once more.

There she felt from the darkness that same hand move. It moved up from her shoulder to her cheek, letting her feel a light chill against her skin and like a cold pillow, it soothed her to become still. From her cheek, it lifted up to her temple, lightly caressing there. While fingertips began to slowly etch their way into the roots of her half shaved head, feathery waves slipping along the surface of it as the hand moved.. again and again. A caressing pet that lulled her to unconsciousness.

* * *

When Ororo woke up again, she found daylight peeking in through curtains. Her body was engulfed in pale, beige sheets that were pulled almost entirely over her head, while at her feet was a weighty comforter which she wriggled her toes into. She knew she wasn't home this time. There was no greeting she expected and she wanted none of it. Not that it felt like she would have been able to move from the comfy spot just yet. Long limbs felt like they were moving through cold water, but her body was too warm. Her blues blinked, the blur of sleep yet to lift.

From the not so far distance, she heard a click that made her unhurriedly peek over the knuckle that held the sheets over her head. Another click following it signifying the door closed behind whoever was entering the room. It was a bit before she registered that there was someone coming in, rather than leaving. Even more, so she could take in the silvery reflection of steel, thick wrappings of green. Broad with an adequate height and squared shoulders of confidence, only dipping as meticulous hands arranged something near by on which she could only assume was a stand.

"I assumed you were still sleeping.." An even timbre addressed her. The hooded dome turned in her direction, from it were eyes peering through the cut holes with a deep, piercing gaze. It shifted instead, regarding her and she shuffled beneath the sheets once more. Less on her face, but no less buried beneath them.

She suppressed a long yawn, legs stretching. "Good morning." 

"Good afternoon, actually." He corrected. The bright blues follow him when he moved from the bedside, trailing off to grab a hold of a chair. It's placed a foot or two from where she laid.

"As I was saying, I assumed you were still sleeping." He leaned forward on to his elbows, his hands folding in front of the area of his mouth although it does not obscure his words as they come. "The evening faced some uneasy skies, a light drizzle." Better than her fit when she had first woke up, but he gave no mention of that. "You are a restless sleeper." It is a statement, not a question. Ororo rolled on her stomach and just barely nodded. "Sometimes." She saw him observing her as a whole, even though his eyes were on hers. He was vigilant, ever watching. It wasn't something easy to explain, but something she learned from Hank's own eyes -- eyes that were calculative and analytic, taking apart everything in front of them -- Hank's curiosity. Victor's? Well.. It was hard to decipher.

Either he knew this and made it intentionally harder, or it was simply a convenience that his more mechanical shell gave his facial expression cover from any scrutiny. An impassive stillness. Metal shaped lips set in a line. "Despite this, how are you? You were absent to the world for two days, four if you count the day you arrived and there after when you first woke up."

There was a pause and for a moment, she hesitated. Uncertain of the question, truthfully, but she answered. "Just groggy.. My head feels like I'm swimming." Head not where it should be, in the clouds.

Regardless, Victor accepted the answer and that made it easier. "Understandable. Given your condition."

A low hum inquired wordlessly. _That bad?_ Her white brows lifting in the silent question.

To which he shook his head. "Just some cuts and lacerations; the exhaustion and the side effects of the element introduced into your system was the cause of your hyposomnia. Because of which, it's been recommended you commit to bed-rest for twenty more hours."

"That won't be necessary, Victor." Too lazy to push up to sit up and prove her point, her tone conveys her message. Such not seeming to bode well with the Latverian Monarch.

"I would have to insist."

"And I'd still say no." Ororo separates herself more from the sheets, just a bit so she could brush some of the ivory strands of her hair from off her face. "I won't overdo it, but I will not be 'confined to my quarters' like some damsel. There are things to tend to, I have students to find, teachers--my friends, I'm sure they're all worried about me."

"I assure you, I would not prescribe 'damsel' as your descriptor, Ororo," after all he had seen the tail end of her solo confrontation with whoever these individuals were before they were swept up in her fury, distraught, and rage. Front row seats to be exact, allowing him to see the unbridled power that lurked within the woman. Victor having only seen few times, personally and through vigilance on the ungodly world around him--untouched by his greatness, but the impact never changed. "But, I'd see more merit in giving yourself a few more days to gather your strength."

"I do not wish to argue, Victor."

"Then, would it not be wiser to simply follow Doom's given advice."

Ororo grumbled low and fitted herself against the pale tan sheets, "No, it would not. Being in this bed will not assist me in recovery nor will it help me in retrieving my friend--many who had children with them." A clear insistence in her voice as she placed a hand to her forehead.

For a moment he was silent. Perhaps contemplating on whether or not to speak. And he does. "As you wish." Leaving the matter alone for now. A kindness to the King's typical hard pressed commands.

"But.. Thank you," she muttered, it was low but it was just the both of them. He'd hear it well enough. 

"Gratitude will suffice for now." There was a flicker of possible amusement in his eye. Maybe. It was hard to read the dark depths watching her. A memory came to mind and where he did not wear a smile, hers spread slowly as the thought flourished and she shifts against the mattress. A time where Ororo was a little younger in her years, as was he, and her own desires for his intentions of plans that concerned global affairs came. Revolutions in the work for great Latveria. He wavered little despite her offense, amused as he was now it seemed.

"Is this suppose to be some lesson for previous encounters?" At that, he leaned back into his chair. A looseness lowering his shoulders as if he were recalling the thought himself. His head tilted, partly while he looked on her. Hands coming together so the fingertips could press against one another in a parallel mirror.

"Not exactly.. After all, Doom's gratitude did not addle the young Storm's mind of her selfless concerns." The words lacking malice, just plain and matter-of-fact with hints of other things that she could not decipher. So, that didn't mean anything terrible. Hopefully.

"Well, they were not unfounded concerns."

The nose portion of his mask pressed to his indexes. "Perhaps."

"I hope the Lord is not one to hold grudges."

He rewarded her with a brief chuckle, a low sound that echoed against the metal that protected him, shielded him from the world. "Nay.. It would contradictory to aid in retrieving your wards, would it not?" Hid his expression from her own curious eyes. Ororo still was awfully curious of why he wore these garbs, wore his armor despite being within the walls of his own domain. What secrets did the self-proclaimed, great Victor von Doom keep behind the titanium armor? Her eyes were distant and clearly lost with those thoughts as Victor's hands parted and rested against the arms of the chest, just beginning to push.

"But, as I said. These are things we can concern ourselves with in the coming days. I will leave you to rest, a doommaid will come in with a luncheon. If you require anything else," he stood up turning round, there was a low sound escaping his arm, engulfed in a pale, violet light as did the chair that he had sat in -- it levitated back to the previous place alongside the stand where a cup of a water and a open-lid container held some bright blue pills -- "Let me, or a doombot know."

Much to his surprise, she immediately spoke up. "Actually, there is something.."

The Latverian king paused, partially turning around.

"The sky, Victor.."

His chin lifted in a sort of realization. _Ah, was that what she meant before.._ But, without pause he nodded, "I'll see to it that someone takes you to the towers."

A small sigh escaped her. "Thank you.. again." And he lingered for a moment, before making the paces from the room.


End file.
